'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of God

By báró Miklós Jósika

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• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547132325

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Miklós báró Jósika

'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of God

EAN 8596547132325

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION.

'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar.

CHAPTER I. RUMOURS.

CHAPTER II. GOOD NEWS OR BAD?

CHAPTER III. MASTER STEPHEN'S PAGE.

CHAPTER IV. MISTAKE THE FIRST.

CHAPTER V. AS THE KING WILLS.

CHAPTER VI. MISTAKE THE SECOND.

CHAPTER VII. AT THE VERY DOORS.

CHAPTER VIII. THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR.

CHAPTER IX. I WASH MY HANDS!

CHAPTER X. LIBOR CLIMBS THE CUCUMBER-TREE.

CHAPTER XI. NEXT TIME WE MEET!

CHAPTER XII. DEFENDING THE CASTLE.

CHAPTER XIII. CAMP FIRES.

CHAPTER XIV. A FATAL DAY.

CHAPTER XV. DORA'S RESOLVE.

CHAPTER XVI. THROUGH THE SNOW.

CHAPTER XVII. A STAMPEDE.

CHAPTER XVIII. AUNT ORSOLYA'S CAVERN.

CHAPTER XIX. FATHER ROGER'S STORY.

CHAPTER XX. LIKE THE PHŒNIX.

INTRODUCTION.

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Baron Miklós Jósika, the Walter Scott of Hungary, was born at Torda, in Transylvania, on April 28th, 1796. While quite a child, he lost both his parents, and was brought up at the house and under the care of his grandmother, Anna Bornemissza, a descendant of Jókai's heroine of the same name in 'Midst the Wild Carpathians. Of the young nobleman's many instructors, the most remarkable seems to have been an emigré French Colonel, who gave him a liking for the literature of France, which was not without influence on his future development. After studying law for a time at Klausenberg to please his friends, he became a soldier to please himself, and in his seventeenth year accompanied the Savoy dragoon regiment to Italy. During the campaign of the Mincio in 1814, he so distinguished himself by his valour that he was created a first lieutenant on the field of battle, and was already a captain when he entered Paris with the allies in the following year. In 1818, at the very beginning of his career, he ruined his happiness by his unfortunate marriage with Elizabeth Kalláy. According to Jósika's biographer, Luiza Szaák,[1] young Jósika was inveigled into this union by a designing mother-in-law, and any chance of happiness the young couple might have had, if left to themselves, was speedily dashed by the interference of the father of the bride, who defended all his daughter's caprices against the much-suffering husband. Even the coming of children could not cement this woeful wedding, which terminated in the practical separation of spouses who were never meant to be consorts.

[1] Baró Jósika Miklós élete és munkai.

Jósika further offended his noble kinsmen by devoting himself to literature. It may seem a paradox to say so, yet it is perfectly true, that in the early part of the present century, with some very few honourable exceptions, the upper classes in Hungary addressed only their servants in Hungarian. Latin was the official language of the Diet, while polite circles conversed in barbarous French. These were the days when, as Jókai has reminded us, the greatest insult you could offer to an Hungarian lady was to address her in her native tongue. It required some courage, therefore, in the young Baron to break away from the feudal traditions of his privileged caste and use the plebeian Magyar dialect as a literary vehicle. His first published book, Abafi (1836), an historical romance written under the direct influence of Sir Walter Scott, whom Jósika notoriously took for his model, made a great stir in the literary world of Hungary. Hats off, gentlemen, was how Szontagh, the editor of the Figyelmezö, the leading Hungarian newspaper of the day, began his review of this noble romance. Jósika was over forty when he first seriously began to write, but the grace and elegance of his style, the maturity of his judgment, the skilfulness of his characterization—all pointed to a long apprenticeship in letters. Absolute originality cannot indeed be claimed for him. Unlike Jókai, he owed very much to his contemporaries. He began as an imitator of Scott, as we have seen, and he was to end as an imitator of Dickens, as we shall see presently. But he was no slavish copyist. He gave nearly as much as he took. Moreover, he was the first to naturalize the historical romance in Hungary, and if, as a novelist, he is inferior to Walter Scott, he is inferior to him alone.

In Hungary, at any rate, his rare merits were instantly recognised and rewarded.

Two years after the publication of Abafi, he was elected a member of the Hungarian Academy, four years later he became the President of the Kisfaludy Társaság, the leading Magyar literary society. All classes, without exception, were attracted and delighted by the books of this new novelist, which followed one another with bewildering rapidity. Zolyomi, written two years before Abafi, was published a few months later, together with Könnyelmüek. Shortly afterwards came the two great books which are generally regarded as his masterpieces, Az utolsó Bátory and Csehek Magyarországon, and a delightful volume of fairy tales, Élet és tündérhón, in three volumes. In 1843 was published Zrinyi a Költö, in which some critics saw a declension, but which Jókai regards as by far the greatest of Jósika's historical romances. Finally may be mentioned as also belonging to the pre-revolutionary period, Jósika István, an historical romance in five volumes, largely based upon the family archives; Egy kétemeletes ház, a social romance in six volumes; and Ifju Békesi Ferencz kalandjai, a very close and most clever imitation of the Pickwick Papers, both in style and matter, written under the pseudonym of Moric Alt. It is a clever skit of the peccadilloes and absurdities of the good folks of Budapest of all classes, full of genuine humour, and was welcomed with enthusiasm.

On the outbreak of the War of Independence in 1848, Baron Jósika magnanimously took the popular side, though he was now an elderly man, and had much to lose and little to gain from the Revolution. He was elected a member of the Honvéd Government; countenanced all its acts; followed it from place to place till the final collapse, and then fled to Poland. Ultimately he settled at Brussels, where for the next twelve years he lived entirely by his pen, for his estates were confiscated, and he himself was condemned to death by the triumphant and vindictive Austrian Government, which had to be satisfied, however, with burning him in effigy.

Jósika was to die an exile from his beloved country, but the bitterness of banishment was somewhat tempered by the touching devotion of his second wife, the Baroness Julia Podmaniczky, who also became his amanuensis and translator. The first novel of the exilic period was Eszter, written anonymously for fear his works might be prohibited in Hungary, in which case the unhappy author would have run the risk of actual want. For the same reason all the novels written between 1850 and 1860 (when he resumed his own name on his title-pages) are by the author of 'Eszter.' In 1864, by the doctor's advice, Jósika moved to Dresden, and there, on February 27th, 1865, he died, worn out by labour and sorrow. He seems, at times, to have had a hard struggle for an honourable subsistence, and critics, latterly, seem to have been neglectful or unkind. Ultimately his ashes were brought home to his native land and deposited reverently in the family vault at Klausenberg; statues were raised in his honour at the Hungarian capital, and the greatest of Hungarian novelists, Maurus Jókai, delivered an impassioned funeral oration over the remains of the man who did yeoman's service for the Magyar literature, and created and popularized the historical novel in Hungary.

For it is as the Hungarian historical romancer par excellence that Jósika will always be remembered, and inasmuch as the history of no other European country is so stirring and so dramatic as that of Hungary, and Jósika was always at infinite pains to go direct to original documents for his facts and local colouring, he will always be sure of an audience in an age, like our own, when the historical novel generally (witness the immense success of Sienkiewicz) is once more the favourite form of fiction. Among the numerous romances by the author of 'Eszter,' the work, entitled Jö a Tatár (The Tartar is coming), now presented to the English public under the title of 'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar, has long been recognised by Hungarian critics as the most pathetic of Jósika's historical romances. The groundwork of the tale is the terrible Tartar invasion of Hungary during the reign of Béla IV. (1235-1270), when the Mongol hordes devastated Magyarland from end to end. Two love episodes, however, relieve the gloom of this terrific picture, and the historical imagination of the great Hungarian romancer has painted the heroism and the horrors of those far distant times every whit as vividly as Sienkiewicz has painted the secular struggle between the Red Cross Knights and the semi-barbarous heroes of old Lithuania.

R. Nisbet Bain.

---

'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar.

CHAPTER I.

RUMOURS.

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Well, Talabor, my boy, what is it? Anything amiss? asked Master Peter, as the page entered the hall, where he and his daughter were at breakfast.

It was a bare, barn-like apartment, but the plates and dishes were of silver.

Nothing amiss, sir, was the answer, only a guest has just arrived, who would like to pay his respects, but—he is on foot!

It was this last circumstance, evidently, which was perplexing Talabor.

A guest?—on foot? repeated Master Peter, as if he too were puzzled.

Yes, sir; Abbot Roger, he calls himself, and says you know him!

What! good Father Roger! Know him? Of course I do! cried Peter, springing from his chair. Where is he? Why didn't you bring him in at once? I am not his Grace of Esztergom to keep a good man like him waiting in the entry!

The servants are just brushing the dust off him, sir, replied the page, and he wants to wash his feet, but he will be ready to wait upon you directly, sir, if you please!

By all means! but he is no 'Abbot,' Talabor; he is private chaplain to Master Stephen, my brother!

Talabor had not long been in Master Peter's service, and knew no more of Master Stephen than he did of Father Roger, so he said nothing and left the room with a bow.

Blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus, Father Roger! cried Master Peter, hurrying forward to meet his guest, as he entered the dining-hall.

For ever and ever! responded the Father, while Dora raised his hand to her lips, delighted to see her old friend again.

But how is this, Father Roger? Peter asked in high good humour, after some inquiry as to his brother's welfare; "how is this? Talabor, deák announced you as 'Abbot.' What is the meaning of it?"

Quite true, sir! Thanks to his Holiness and the King, I have been 'Abbot' the last month or two; but just now I am on my way to Pest by command of his Majesty.

What! an abbot travel in this fashion, on foot! Why, our abbots make as much show as the magnates, some of them. Too modest, too modest, Father! Besides, you'll never get there! Is the King's business urgent?

Hardly that, I think; though—but, after all, why prophesy evil before one must!

Prophesy evil? repeated Dora.

Prophecies are in the hands of the Lord! interposed her father quickly. Good or bad, it rests with Him whether they shall be fulfilled. So, Father Roger, let us have it, whatever it is.

The King's commands were that I should be at Pest by the end of the month, answered Roger, "so I shall be in time, even if I do travel somewhat slowly. As for the prophesying—without any gift of prophecy I can tell you so much as this, that something is coming! True, it is far off as yet, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and I fancy the King is one who likes to look well ahead."

But what is it, Father Roger? do tell us! cried Dora anxiously.

Nothing but rumours so far, dear child, but they are serious, and it behoves us to be on our guard.

Oktai and his brethren, eh? said Master Peter, with some scorn. Oh, those Tartars! The Tartars are coming! the Tartars are coming! Why, they have been coming for years! When did we first hear that cry? I declare I can't remember, and he laughed.

I am afraid it is no laughing matter, though, said Father Roger. I daresay you have not forgotten Brother Julian, who returned home only two or three years ago.

But here Dora interposed. She remembered Father Roger telling her a story of the Dominican brothers, who had gone to try and find the old home of the Magyars and convert to Christianity those who had stayed behind, and she wanted to hear it again, if her father did not mind.

Father Roger accordingly told how, of the first four brothers, only one had returned home, and he had died soon after, but not before he had described how, while travelling as a merchant, he had fallen in with men who spoke Hungarian and told him where their home, Ugria, was to be found.[2] Four more brothers had been despatched on the same quest by King Béla, who was desirous of increasing the population of his country, and particularly wished to secure kinsmen if he could. Two only of the brothers persevered through the many perils and privations which beset their way. One of these died, and Julian, the survivor, entering the service of a wealthy Mohammedan, travelled with him to a land of many rich towns, densely populated.[3] Here he met a woman who had actually come from the old home, and still farther north he had found the brothers of the Magyars, who could understand him and whom he could understand.

[2] Ugria extended from the North Sea to the rivers Kama, Irtisch, and Tobol, west and east of the Ural Mountains. The Ugrians had come in more ancient times from the high lands of the Altai Mountains. Hungarian was still spoken in Ugria, then called Juharia, as late as the beginning of the sixteenth century.

[3] Great Bulgaria, lying on both sides of the Volga, at its junction with the Kama.

They were, of course, heathen, but not idolaters; they were nomads, wandering from place to place, living on flesh and mare's milk, and knowing nothing of agriculture. They were greatly interested in all that Julian told them, for they knew from old traditions that some of their race had migrated westwards.

But at the time of his visit they were much perturbed by news brought to them by their neighbours on the east. These were Tartar, or Turkish, tribes, who, having several times attacked them and been repulsed, had finally entered into an alliance with them. A messenger from the Tartar Khan had just arrived to announce, not only that the Tartar tribes were themselves on the move and but five days' journey away, but that they were moving to escape from a thick-headed race, numerous as the sands of the sea which was behind them, on their very heels, and threatening to overwhelm all the kingdoms of the world, as it had already overwhelmed great part of Asia.

Brother Julian hastened home to report his discoveries and warn his country, which he had reached between two and three years before our story begins; but nothing more had come of his pilgrimage, no more had been heard of the "Magyar[4] brothers."

[4] Europeans called them Ugrians-Hungarians, but they called themselves Magyars—children of the land, as some think to be the meaning of the word.

But why, Father Roger? asked Dora, with wide eyes.

Because the 'thick-headed people' have not only overrun nearly the whole of Central Asia as far as Pekin, covering it with ruins and reducing it to a desert, but have streamed westward like a flood, a torrent, and have submerged nearly the whole of Eastern Europe.

Then they are not Tartars?

"No, Mongolians[5]; but they have swallowed up many Tartar tribes and have forced them to join their host. Tartars we have known before, but Mongols are new to us, so most people keep to the name familiar to them, which seems appropriate too—Tátars, Tartari, you know, denizens of Tartarus, the Inferno, as we Italians call it; and their deeds are 'infernal' enough, Heaven knows!"

[5] Temudschin was but thirteen when he became chief (in

A.D.

1175) of one horde, consisting of thirty to forty thousand families. After some vicissitudes, he entered upon a career of conquest, and, between 1204 and 1206, he summoned the chiefs of all the hordes and tribes who owned his sway to an assembly, at which he caused it to be proclaimed that Heaven had decreed to him the title of 'Dschingiz' (Highest), for he was to be ruler of the whole world. From this time he was known as Dschingiz, or Zenghiz Khan.

And are they coming, really?

As to whether they will come here, God alone knows; but Oktai, son of Dschingiz, who is now chief Khan, has sent a vast host westward, and, as I said, they have overrun great part of Russia; it is reported that they have burnt Moscow.

Come, come, Father, interrupted Peter, who had been growing more and more restless, you are not going to compare us Magyars with the Russians, I hope, or with the Chinese and Indians either. If they show their ugly dog's-heads here, they will find us more than a match for such a rabble.

I hope so! said Father Roger. But he spoke gravely, and added, You have heard, of course, of the Cumani, Kunok, you call them, I think.

To be sure! Peaceable enough when they are let alone, but brave, splendid fellows when they are attacked, as Oktai has found, for I know they have twice defeated him, said Master Peter triumphantly.

Yes, there was no want of valour on their part; but you know the proverb: 'Geese may be the death of swine, if only there be enough of them!' And so, according to the last accounts, the brave King has been entirely overwhelmed by Oktai's myriads, and he, with 40,000 families of Kunok, are now in the Moldavian mountains on the very borders of Erdély (Transylvania).

Ah, indeed, said Master Peter, a little more gravely, that I had not heard! but if it is true, I must tell you that my chief object would be to prevent the report from spreading and being exaggerated. If it does, the whole country will be in a state of commotion, and all for nothing! There is hardly any nation which needs peace more than ours does, and we have quite enough to do with sweeping before our own door, without going and mixing ourselves up in other people's quarrels.

But Father Roger went on to say that the rumour had spread already, and that was why the King was wishing to call his nobles, and, in fact, the whole nation, together to take measures of defence in good time.

Defence! cried Peter; defence against whom? Why, we have no enemies on any of our borders, unless you mean the Kunok, and they are far enough off at present; besides, we don't look on them as foes. It is always the way, Father Roger! always the way! We go conjuring up spectres! and though I am his Majesty's loyal and devoted subject, I may say here, just between ourselves, that I do think him too quick to take alarm.

You think so, sir? returned the Abbot; well, of course, it is a mere opinion, but to my mind the King is not far wrong.

And then the good Father reminded his host that Oktai had already overthrown the Russians, great numbers of whom had been forced to join his army; and now that he had driven out the Kunok was it to be supposed that he would stop short? Dschingiz Khan, his father, had been a conqueror; conquest was his sole object in life, and he would have conquered the whole world if he had lived. His sons, especially Oktai, took after him; they, too, considered themselves destined to conquer the world, and now that Kuthen had shown him the way into Transylvania he would be forcing a passage across the frontier before they knew where they were. His rapidity was something marvellous, unheard of!

Again Master Peter only laughed. Where was the use of alarming the country? and would not a call to arms look as if they were afraid, and actually tempt the Mongols to come and attack them?

Father Roger shook his head, as he replied in Latin:

If you wish for peace, prepare for war, as the old Romans used to say, and it is wise not to despise your foe.

The two went on arguing. Master Peter, like many another noble in those days, would not see danger. Though valiant enough, he was always an easy-going man, and, again like many another, he was quite confident that Hungary would be able to beat any enemy who might come against her, without worrying herself beforehand. Father Roger did not know the Hungarians, though he had lived so long among them!

Well, well, he concluded, "you go to Pest, Mr. Abbot; but think it well over by the way, and when you see the King, you tell him plainly that Peter Szirmay advises his Majesty not to give the alarm before it